


these roads grow from me

by blackkat



Series: TobiZabu Drabbles [3]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death Fix, Cryogenics, Families of Choice, First Meetings, Fix-It of Sorts, Humor, M/M, Mentioned Corpses, Mentions of Death by Exposure and Starvation, Rescue, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-13
Updated: 2019-09-13
Packaged: 2020-10-17 20:08:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20626820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: On a mission to investigate a failed Kumo settlement in the far northern reaches of Water Country, Zabuza and Haku find a man frozen in ice. It just might be enough to change everything.





	these roads grow from me

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt: Tobirama/Zabuza - A man frozen in ice.

“_Fuck_,” Zabuza says, and means it with every inch of his heart.

Beside him, Haku doesn’t look all that much happier. He hunkers down a little more in his fur-lined coat, hood pulled up around his ears, and says almost plaintively, “We have to check this whole area?”

“Yeah,” Zabuza mutters, more than a little bitter about getting stuck with this mission. Kisame’s too cold-blooded to come this far north, though, and Ameyuri’s cough has gotten too bad to risk the cold. Mangetsu probably could have made it, but he’s on a mission in Taki and hasn’t been in contact in a week.

Besides, Yagura fucking hates him, and this is clearly his revenge.

Looking out at the ice field in front of them, Haku grimaces, pulling his gloves up higher. “There aren’t even any plants up here.”

“Ice sheet,” Zabuza says in explanation, and standing here, it’s easy to see why Water Country has never bothered to push up into this part of the territory, even when the storms get bad on the main islands. No one lives up here, not if they have a choice.

“We don’t have to _stay_ up here until spring, do we?” Haku asks, and that foreboding light in his eyes says he’s going to be the politest bitch to Yagura as soon as they’re back in Kiri, regardless of Zabuza’s answer.

Zabuza snorts, but forges forward through the snow. “Just until we get the patrol done,” he says. “Kumo’s tried to take over the area before, just for shits and giggles, and the Mizukage likes to keep an eye on the place so he can laugh in the Raikage’s face when all of their settlers die from exposure.”

“They want to settle _here_?” Haku sounds entirely judgmental.

Zabuza just shrugs. He’s never understood how A’s mind works. “They want to take territory, I guess. Doesn’t matter to A if no one else really wants it or not.”

Haku wrinkles his nose, a clear indication of his opinion regarding A’s intelligence. He doesn’t offer a comment, though, just looks around them and then pulls the collar of his coat up a little higher.

“It’s cold,” he says.

Zabuza wonders if he’s thinking of the snowbank where he was left to die, if he’s remembering how cold it was that day when Zabuza found him. “Yeah,” he says instead, disgusted, and then leans down, scooping Haku up and ignoring his offended yelp. Slinging him over his back, he says, “There’s a gorge up ahead, and I don’t want you missing a step and bringing the whole thing down on top of us. Hang on.”

There’s a second of miffed silence before Haku’s arms wrap around his neck. “I wouldn’t,” he says, but he buries his gloved hands inside the edge of Zabuza’s jacket anyway, seeking warmth, and Zabuza rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, and takes three long steps, then leaps. The ground drops away beneath their feet as the mouth of the canyon swallows them, and they fall down through the blue dimness of ice shadows for a long, breathless minute. The floor of the crevasse looms, and Zabuza sends up a flare of chakra, one quick burst to cushion their landing and spend momentum, and redirects, flipping up and over and landing in a crouch.

Against his neck, Haku gives a muffled laugh, arms tightening. Zabuza huffs, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his chest. Four years since he picked Haku up off the street, and for the first year he hadn’t thought Haku would ever laugh, or act his age, and he finally is. It’s not like Zabuza knows how kids are supposed to be—he grew up on the street, massacred a hundred of his classmates by the time he was Haku’s age—but before, Haku was too quiet, too wary. He’s getting better.

More useful if he’s well-adjusted, Zabuza tries to think, but can’t quite manage to convince himself.

“The old Kumo camp’s up ahead about a mile,” he says, and tips his head. “If you see something, get the hell off so I can get my sword.”

“I’m not the one who I decided I couldn’t walk,” Haku says primly, but he shifts enough to be able to jump clear easily. There are still cold little hands under Zabuza’s jacket, too, so clearly Haku isn’t _that _motivated to move. “How long ago did they invade? I don’t remember it.”

Zabuza grunts. “You wouldn’t. It was probably seven years ago now—maybe eight, actually. I’d just gotten Kubikiribōchō.”

There’s a nod against Zabuza’s neck. “_Why_, though?” Haku asks, and Zabuza can hear the frown in his voice. “Nothing grows on the ice sheet, and you still have to cross the ocean to reach Kiri.”

It takes effort not to roll his eyes. Zabuza’s never been the best at working out what the hell other people are thinking, and that goes double for people who haven’t grown up in a shithole like Kiri. “Water Country’s the smallest of the Five Great Nations, and we’re poor. To someone like A, it’s offensive to have Kiri lumped in with Kumo, so he’s always had his eye on us. A place to conquer, so he can expand Kumo and get rid of the closest shinobi village.”

A moment of silence as Haku digests this, and then a sound of confusion. “I thought Kumo helped Kiri raze Uzushio,” he says.

Zabuza just shrugs. “Best way for both villages to get some of Uzushio’s bloodlines for themselves,” he says. “There’s a reason why a lot of Kumo nin have red hair.”

“And why there are so many lower caste shinobi in Kiri?” Haku asks quietly.

“Defeated enemies are useful as long as you can control them.” Zabuza looks ahead of them, to where the crevasse turns at a sharp angle and the floor of it rises. Tries not to remember his mother, red-haired and furious, or his quiet, grim father, with manacle scars around his wrists. Kiri’s got a thing for using up people and then spitting them back out as mangled pieces, and Zabuza is the product of that. He’s never had any illusions as to what he is, or where he came from.

Not many illusions about Kiri as a whole, either.

It might be his imagination, but he thinks he feels Haku’s arms tighten just a little around his neck. “Kiri underestimates people,” Haku says softly, and then shifts, leaning forward to look ahead of them. “Did Kumo actually manage to—_oh_.”

Two steps around the corner and the crevasse opens up into a wide valley in the ice, shallow but long, with peaks of snow-crusted ice rising all around the edges of it like dragons’ teeth. In the very center, half-buried in the snow, is a small compound of stone buildings. The domed, elevated towers are the style most common in Lightning Country, and Zabuza can still see the arched bridges connecting them, covered in snow and hung with icicles. It’s perfectly preserved, but it doesn’t quite look lifelike; there’s an eerie, deserted, melancholy air to it, and Zabuza can feel right down to his bones that something bad happened here. It’s not a pleasant place, and it won’t let anyone forget that.

Silently, Haku slides off his back, landing lightly in the snow beside him. “It’s empty,” he says softly, and his hands are just a little closer to his senbon than normal.

“Yeah.” Zabuza breathes out through his nose, then reaches out with the leading edge of a Suiton jutsu, testing the ice. As far as he can tell, though, it’s depthless, unbroken. There are a few seals carved into the ground, but they’re quiet, lifeless. “No one’s ever managed to last more than a few seasons up here. If they try to go longer, they disappear. Kumo’s whole settlement learned that the hard way.”

“Ghosts?” Haku casts him a sideways look, because he’s a little shit. “Or is it monsters? Maybe aliens?”

Zabuza rolls his eyes and starts forward, minding the first seal even if it’s apparently dead. “Shut up, aliens aren’t real. And no, it was exposure and a hard winter that killed most of them off. They got cut off from Kumo over the long winter, and it’s not like you can grow crops up here. Most of ‘em starved to death, and the rest got sick. By the time Kumo could get across the ice, Yagura had decided that he didn’t like them kicking around on his doorstep and had stationed a few dozen Suiton users up here. Kumo never had a fucking chance of getting through.”

Haku laughs a little, and it echoes oddly in the silent valley, a ghostly, unsettling sound. “Is there anything that _isn’t_ water up here?”

“Yeah,” Zabuza says dryly. “The ice. That’s why you’re here.”

Haku ducks his head, smile pleased, and keeps to Zabuza’s heels as they cross a narrow causeway over a deep chasm. “Do you think people could ever live up here?” he asks.

“Thought it was too cold even for you,” Zabuza says pointedly, and Haku huffs.

“It is,” he says. “But—there’s so much snow. I’ve never seen this much before.”

Zabuza snorts, hooking a hand in Haku’s jacket and pulling him out of the way of another seal. “Maybe,” he says noncommittally. “You’d have to figure out a way to stay warm even in the middle of winter, and you’d need a way to grow food. Maybe the Shodai Hokage could have managed it with his Mokuton, but everyone else is shit out of luck.”

“The _staying warm_ part seems even harder than the food,” Haku says, wrinkling his nose, and casts another sideways look at Zabuza. “Your nose is turning blue.”

“Because _someone_ decided to warm up their icicle hands under my jacket,” Zabuza retorts, though it’s a lie. The wind up here is awful, and even if it’s technically summer right now, there’s no escaping the deep, biting cold.

Haku laughs a little, muffling it so it doesn’t echo this time, and raises his head to study the first building beyond the thick wall. “Did they really think the Sandaime was going to fight them over this place?” he asks.

“That fucker A sure as hell would, if the situation was reversed,” Zabuza points out, and eyes the heavy wooden doors with contempt. Some idiot had to haul those planks all the way in from Lightning Country. Had to haul _all_ of these materials up, and the lack of logic annoys him. Even when Kiri nin do venture up here, for patrols or anything else, they build out of snow. It’s a hell of a lot warmer than any stone building, after all.

A hard kick with just a touch of chakra shatters the frozen metal, and Zabuza boots the gate open, checking to make sure he didn’t trigger any wards before he steps in. There’s nothing, though. Just the low mournful whine of the wind through the buildings, the creak of the doors swaying on their hinges, and the heavy, watchful silence of the ice sheet all around them.

“I didn’t think I would miss the sound of the floes,” Haku murmurs, glancing around them with disquiet on his face.

“I don’t,” Zabuza says flatly, because even the oppressive silence is better than the grinding, rumbling groan of the ice floes rubbing against one another that’s ever-present to the south. It filled the air, kept Zabuza awake for nights on end, because it was too loud to hear someone sneaking up on them in the dark, sounded too much like some vast beast looming over them for him to ever relax. He’s not looking forward to heading back the way they came.

Haku’s shoulder brushes his arm briefly before he steps away. “It was too loud,” he agrees. “But—I don’t like the quiet.”

Zabuza’s whole business is quiet, keeping himself silent no matter what. It’s a learned trick, something he’s honed, learned to use and taught himself to practice even when he’s not on a mission. But—

“Yeah,” he admits on a sigh. “It’s fucking awful up here.”

Just faintly, Haku relaxes, like he was afraid he was the only one feeling the weight. As they step through the eaves of the covered doorway, he casts a glance up at the closest building, the kanji for lightning half-covered by ice where it’s carved into the stone, and frowns.

“It doesn’t look like anyone’s been here in a long time,” he says.

Zabuza is inclined to agree, regardless of what Yagura’s paranoia insists. “We’ll check it over anyway,” he says, and tries the knob on the door at the base of the tower. “If Kumo _did_ decide to make another stab at taking a fucking block of ice, they’d probably set up here again, since they put so much work into building it.”

“Bad work,” Haku says sweetly, and slips past Zabuza, pressing his hands flat against the door. A breath, a touch of chakra, and suddenly the door gives, swinging open with a loud creak. Haku draws back, and casts Zabuza a sweet, faintly smug smile. “Everything’s iced over.”

Zabuza snorts, and pointedly tugs his hood down over his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. There’s a reason you didn’t get left with Kisame again, brat.”

Haku laughs happily, brushing his hood back, and follows Zabuza into the building. There’s a body along one wall, slumped and frozen, but Haku only gives it a brief look. Zabuza doesn’t even bother with that much; there are going to be plenty of corpses if the records from the last survey are right, and Zabuza hasn’t felt so much as a trace of life yet.

“Are we going to stay here tonight?” Haku asks, skimming his fingers along the wall as they head up a narrow flight of stairs. Meant to defend against invaders, bottle-necking them as they try to reach the top floor, Zabuza thinks, and scoffs internally. Kumo was so worried about Kiri taking offense to their presence that they forgot mother nature was a hundred thousand times worse.

“There’s a couple of cellars that should be warm enough if we can get below the surface,” Zabuza answers, and it’s not a pleasant thought, having to make camp here, but he’s slept in worse places. Haku has, too. “In the morning we can move on and check out the area, then head back south.”

“I’ll never complain about humid summers again,” Haku promises, and he doesn’t quite pull a face, but Zabuza snorts and nudges him anyway.

“Sure you will,” he says dryly. “I’ll just have more to hold over your head now when you do.” And then he promptly slips as the stone under his foot suddenly gains a thick coating of ice. With a curse, Zabuza catches himself, then jerks around to snarl at his apprentice’s perfectly innocent, wide-eyed expression.

“Careful,” Haku says, beaming at him. “There’s a lot of ice around here.”

“You little _fucker_,” Zabuza says, and grabs him, hoisting him up as he yelps and flails and tossing him over his shoulder. Tips him down so he’s dangling, wrapping an arm over his kicking legs, and ignores the loud protests as he starts up the stairs again.

“Zabuza!” Haku thumps him in the small of the back, but honestly, he’s not trying very hard, so Zabuza ignores him. “Zabuza, put me _down_.”

“Not a chance in hell,” Zabuza tells him. “If I slip again, I’m taking you down with me.” He hauls open the door at the top of the stairs, casting a look over the otherwise empty guardroom, and steps back out into the bite of the wind as it moans past the narrow, arching bridge that leads to the next building. “Maybe if you stopped being a fucking brat, you could convince me.”

“I am _not_,” Haku says, offended. “I’m practically…”

“Practically what?” Zabuza needles when he trails off. “Practically a pain in my ass? Because that’s true—”

“Zabuza,” Haku says, and that tone isn’t joking _at all_.

Instantly, Zabuza spins, dumping Haku on his feet and shoving the kid behind him. Looks for the threat, already grabbing for Kubikiribōchō, and—

Crouched above them, on the edge of the domed roof, is a shape that takes a moment to register in Zabuza’s mind. Cream and grey and slate, a flattened head and rounded ears and lips pulled back from sharp white teeth as long as Zabuza’s hand. It’s a snow leopard, but ten times the size of any normal one, armored like a war dog, and it’s staring down at them like it’s just decided on its next meal.

“_Shit_,” Zabuza says, because he knows a summons when he sees one. No normal creature gets that big, or looks that intelligent.

Haku’s hand fists in the hem of his coat. “Zabuza,” he starts, but the snow leopard _snarls_, a hair-raising sound that slams directly into some animal instinct buried deep in Zabuza’s brain, a certainty that for all he’s used to being the biggest predator in any given room, he isn’t anything close right now. With a hissed curse, he spins, grabs Haku again, and bolts for the other side of the bridge, and just manages to miss the lunge that skims the back of his coat as the snow leopard drops all but on top of them.

“Door!” Zabuza snarls, and practically throws Haku at the iced-over door, swinging Kubikiribōchō down and around to block the next swipe. The force of the snow leopard’s blow almost knocks him off his feet, and he shouts, brings a hand up as he shoves chakra into a jutsu. Water erupts out of the snow, encasing the cat, and there’s a cry. Haku shoves in front of him, shaping a seal, and the water freezes with a sharp crack.

In the middle of the spray of ice, the snow leopard _laughs_, and the surface of the ice shimmers like water.

“Fucking _hell_,” Zabuza snarls, and grabs Haku again as the ice starts to give. He hurls himself through the doorway, dragging Haku along, and slams the door behind them, throwing the lock and then leaping down the interior stairs. Above them, there’s a crash of stone and wood as the beast tears through, and Zabuza doesn’t stop to see if human-made walls will hold it. Summons are older, stronger than any human, and have more chakra than any living creature but a bijuu; there’s no chance he can beat it. Even Kisame would have a hell of a time, and in these conditions, with its element all around? They’re so fucked Zabuza can’t even begin to comprehend it.

“Left!” Haku cries, and Zabuza does it without having to think; he dives sideways through an opening that a moment before was entirely hidden by ice, and vaults the edge of a balcony to drop straight down to the snow-covered ground. The compound suddenly seems horrifically small, but he still sprints for the slim cover of the ordered buildings, ducking behind a storage shed. For a moment he debates calling up a mist, trying to slip away while the snow leopard’s senses are blunted, but—even blunted they’re likely far sharper than Zabuza’s human senses. There’s no point.

Taking a careful breath, he closes his eyes, listening. The clatter of the tower collapsing is all too loud, but he can’t hear anything beyond that, can’t pick out the snow leopard. Reasonable, probably—snow leopards are entirely acclimated to hunting in snow and on rocky ground, and one as old as that one probably is, given the size, it won’t make a simple mistake like letting the creak of its armor give it away—

A drop of snow hits Zabuza’s cheek, and he throws himself out of the way on instinct, sweeping Kubikiribōchō up and across as the big cat drops down from above.

The snow leopard laughs at him, leaping the blade and skidding sideways in a wash of snow. Zabuza ducks the blinding wave, drops down and feels something huge pass just over his head. Over his shoulder, clinging by his own power now, Haku shouts, and Zabuza doesn’t wait to hear his warning; he leaps hard, a shunshin carrying them up to the top of the next building. The cat is right behind them, rebounding off a bridge and landing heavily half an inch from Zabuza’s heels, and he shapes a hand sign, sends a fountain of water bursting up with a dragon’s head. It blasts the summons back, the leopard yowling with fury, right into the building behind them.

Not willing to waste a second of the opening, Zabuza leaps for the next building, drops down, and sends two more water dragons hurtling at the summons’s face as it tries to follow.

“Out of the settlement?” Haku asks breathlessly, shaping a hand sign, and a flurry of needles fills the air.

“Open ground, we’d be fucking _bait,_” Zabuza says, and grits his teeth. They need somewhere defensible, somewhere that the snow leopard won’t be able to get to. But this is a Kumo village, meant for mountains and valleys and impassable spaces that are their own defense. If there’s so much as a convenient bolt hole nearby, Zabuza can’t see it.

With a snarl, the snow leopard leaps sideways, redirecting off a wall with a surge of muscle and intent, and Zabuza doesn’t even have time to curse. He ducks, shoving chakra into his feet as he slides across the open space and into the narrow gap between the wall and the closest tower. There’s a crash as the cat collides with the stone, and Zabuza twists to his feet, gets his balance, and sprints for a wide, squat building.

“Up!” Haku cries, and ice bursts like a momentary shield over them. The snow leopard lands on it, leaps off, and hits the ground already lunging underneath.

“Fuck off, you piece of shitty mouse-bait!” Zabuza snarls, and slams Kubikiribōchō down, just missing its face. In the same moment, Haku's chakra surges, and they land on the other side of the settlement half an instant later. Zabuza pushes through the dispersing whirl of snow, picking up a run, and demands, “Any cellars you can feel?”

Haku shapes his seal, eyes narrowing, and if Zabuza couldn’t hear the quick pace of his breath he might believe he was completely unaffected. “There—” he starts, but before he can even point, a pale shape launches itself off the wall and lands in front of them with a thud that practically shakes the ground. It rises to its full height, thick tail lashing, and shakes out its blood-red armor before it gives Zabuza a wide, malicious feline grin.

The one that caught them on the walkway is wearing _black_ armor, Zabuza thinks, with a sick, horrified sinking feeling in his chest. _Shit_.

Haku's hands grip the collar of his coat, white-knuckled, and he takes a breath. “I can distract it,” he says, an attempt at an even tone although his voice trembles faintly. He starts to let himself slip down to the ground—

“Like fuck,” Zabuza says curtly, and hauls Haku up, slinging him over his back. “Grab my sword harness. And fucking _stay there_.”

There’s a low, rumbling sound, like thunder underground. The red-armored snow leopard growls, advancing a step. Zabuza matches it in retreat, right up until there’s a loud thump and a burst of snow hits his back, Haku's gasp coming an instant later as the black-armored snow leopard rises. He doesn’t close his eyes, doesn’t curse, but nothing has ever been more tempting. Two summons, fucking _big_ summons, and he doesn’t know if they’re unbound or a remnant of the Kumo nin that were here, but either way, it’s clear they don’t want to sit down for tea.

“Zabuza?” Haku whispers, and one small hand tugs on Zabuza’s right sleeve.

Haku wouldn’t risk distracting him in a fight. Zabuza breathes in, breathes out, and levels Kubikiribōchō across his body, parallel to the ground. “Yeah, Haku,” he says gruffly, and shapes a familiar seal with his free hand. There’s enough water in the air, in the snow, that even without being able to draw on the ice Zabuza can feel the air instantly going cold. Mist billows up, impossibly thick clouds of white vapor swallowing them in an instant, and in the same moment Haku throws up his hand. A surge of icy needles flies, and there’s a spitting, hissing roar.

Instantly, Zabuza dives right, towards the doorway Haku indicated. The door gives the instant he hits it, and he slides through, shoves it closed. Calls up water, a surge from outside, and Haku's chakra snaps out like a whip to freeze it solid.

“Down?” Zabuza asks, and Haku points at a trapdoor in the middle of the floor. There are several bodies around it, frosted over, and Zabuza has to shove one to the side to haul up the heavy trapdoor. The air beneath it is open, though, and as a ringing impact makes the whole building tremble, he vaults through the narrow opening and lets the wooden cover drop behind them.

It’s a tight fit. Zabuza’s broad but thin, and even then he scrapes his shoulders, probably scrapes Haku's too. But the floor they drop through is thick, pure ice, and there’s no way the snow leopards can get through such a narrow opening.

They don’t land in darkness. Instead, it’s deep blue, dark ice-shadows in the faint light coming from a single narrow hole, probably meant to let smoke out. There are more bodies down here, a man and a woman still wearing their Kumo hitai-ate, the woman propped against the far wall and the man stretched out below the vent, next to a small firepit still filled with charred cloth. Some last attempt to stay warm, Zabuza assumes, and straightens carefully.

Above them, he can hear the heavy pad of footsteps, the rattle of a creature without opposable thumbs trying to open the latch, and then a huff of frustration. A moment later, the steps move away, and Zabuza lets out a slow breath, refusing to allow it to shake.

“Well, shit,” he mutters.

Slowly, Haku lets go of Kubikiribōchō’s harness, dropping down to land lightly on the ice. “Why are there _summons_ up here?” he asks, sounding mortally offended.

“There are summons who don’t have a contract holder,” Zabuza reminds him. “Those two weren’t exactly chatty, so either they thought it was demeaning to talk to their food, or they couldn’t. Some summons can't, if they don’t have a human they're attached to.”

“Oh.” Haku casts a glance back up, then wraps his arms around himself and asks, “Will they leave?”

“Sure as hell has to be boring wandering around a ghost town,” Zabuza says, though there’s a dark, angry certainty in his chest that the two cats live somewhere in the settlement, and won't be leaving any time soon.

At least Haku looks mildly comforted, because he nods and sinks down, closing his eyes and twisting his hands into a seal. “I might be able to make a tunnel through the ice,” he says, and pauses. His expression twists, and he glances down. “I—if I could get my Demonic Ice Mirrors to work—”

Zabuza knows better than anyone just how much Haku has been trying to get his clan’s bloodline ability into a thing he can use just working off of scrolls, and he snorts, dropping a hand on Haku's head and shoving him gently. “Last resort,” he says, because he’s pretty sure that only someone with the Yuki Clan bloodline can use their mirrors. At the very least, though, that means Haku has a way out, and it settles him, makes his next breath come easier.

“Tunnel sounds like a good idea,” he offers instead, and Haku smiles faintly.

“I think I can manage it,” he says, and then pause. “I'm low on chakra, so I might have to sleep. Unless you have soldier pills.”

“Sleep when you damn well need to. Do I look like I've got as much spare cash as Mei to you?” Zabuza asks crankily. It’s something of a sore point; soldier pills in Kiri are fucking expensive, and he usually picks some up whenever he’s in another country, or whenever he can buy them off a foreign shinobi. He hasn’t had a lot of missions outside of Water Country these last few months, though; Yagura clearly believes the rumors that Zabuza’s aiming for his seat, and Zabuza’s almost irritated enough by all of it to prove him right. They’re half-true rumors, anyway; he sure as hell hasn’t been talking about it, but he’s got the outlines of a coup in mind.

Only Haku knows, though, and he’s definitely not the one who’s been spreading whispers.

Muffling a laugh, Haku nods, closing his eyes again. “Yes, Zabuza,” he says, in that tone that means he’s just humoring Zabuza, but Zabuza rolls his eyes and lets it go. Instead, he passes Haku, circling the room. It’s larger than he expected, with high ceilings and bare walls, weapons leaning against the corners. Lots of weapons, but—they're not well enough organized for this to have been a weapons storage. Maybe this was where the survivors tried to hole up, or—

The light in the room shifts, and Zabuza comes to a sharp halt, breath catching in his throat.

The body of the kunoichi isn't just leaning against the wall. She’s very deliberately propped up with her back against a door of glass, carved with the arching, twisting lines of seals. A guard, Zabuza thinks, cold from more than just the ice around them. He crouches down, looking into her face, and—

Red hair, young features. Maybe a child taken from Uzushio, once—Kumo's got a habit of snatching children. She and Zabuza could possibly be related.

Because of that, Zabuza is maybe a little more careful than he otherwise might have been when he shifts her out of the way, letting her lean against wall a short distance from her post. He does wonder if the last scouting team that came through realized what she was guarding, or if they just wrote her off as another body left in a corner to decay. From pretty much every angle but the one directly in front of it, the glass of the door looks like more ice, and the seals bits of frost. But, when Zabuza stands in line with it, he can see a faint depression, just the right size for a hand.

The seals are dead, drained of chakra long ago. They stay quiet when he pushes the door open, and the thing swings easily, no defense without its seals. Zabuza eyes it, but there’s no reaction, even when he steps through and into the hidden room.

It’s small. Much, much smaller than the other, with hardly enough space for Zabuza to stretch out his arms if he wanted out. Not meant for anyone to live in, Zabuza thinks, but—

It isn't a living man they're displaying in here. It’s a dead one.

The first curls of chakra Zabuza has seen in the settlement twist around a coffin made entirely of ice, carefully carved. Golden lines cover the sides, and whoever laid these seals is probably a master at it, if they’ve lasted this long in these conditions. They're precise, careful, insidious. Seals of binding, and protection, and captivity, and Zabuza reaches out, traces the closest one with his fingertips.

Sleep, he thinks. He’s seen that one before.

Not dead, then.

Still not entirely able to believe his eyes, he looks back at the man inside the icy chamber, tracing white hair and red-marked cheeks before his eyes settle on the leaf carved into the dented happuri faceguard. Between that and the sword hilt gripped in his hand, there’s only one person it could possible be.

“Well, hell,” Zabuza tells the Nidaime Hokage, entirely disbelieving. “I guess Kumo really did take you out. Emphasis on the _take_.”

No wonder they couldn’t find his body in the aftermath.

There's no response from Tobirama. Zabuza casts another glance at the seals, frowning, and wonders if he’s reading them right. Because if he is, when they're deactivated—

Well. Senju Tobirama was the only person who could rival his brother for power levels, and from everything Zabuza’s heard, he was twice as cunning, too. If anyone can get them past two snow leopard summons, it’s probably the God of Shinobi’s younger, more vicious, more inventive brother.

“Hey, Haku,” Zabuza says, pitching his voice to carry. “Leave the tunnel for a second. Come help me with this.”

“Are you sure he’ll be alive when we get him out?” Haku asks, faintly doubtful, but he traces his fingers over the ice like he’s testing the thickness of it.

Zabuza tips one shoulder in a shrug. “Keeping their former nemesis on ice just to be able to parade him around as a victory symbol seems like a thing Kumo would do, especially since they grabbed him during the war. Kumo and Konoha have never officially declared a ceasefire, so it’s not like they would have given him back.”

“As long as you’re sure you're reading the seals right,” Haku demurs, though the smile he slants Zabuza is perfectly innocent. “I remember what happened with Utakata.”

Zabuza growls at him, offended. “Utakata’s working for a fucking master of fuinjutsu, and I got the Academy special, so fuck off with that. If he’s going to throw in some obscure pieces of shit from the Clan Wars, he’d better realize that no one else is going to be able to tell the difference between a cargo seal and an explosive tag.”

Haku laughs, because he’s a little brat. “I think I can melt the ice slowly enough that it won't hurt him,” he says, shifting the subject. “But some of the seals must be to preserve it, because it won’t do what I tell it to right now.”

Scowling at the arrays on the side of the icy coffin, Zabuza traces one down until it bleeds into the next, then a third. It takes a moment, but he finds the preservation seal close to the floor, most of it still glowing. It’s starting to fade a little, though, the outermost edge going dark, and Zabuza grimaces at the thought of what would have happened to the man inside if he and Haku hadn’t showed up. Still asleep, still helpless even as what kept him in stasis collapsed, and that’s a long, slow death of dehydration and starvation even if the victim is asleep the whole time.

“Here,” he says, and drags the point of his kunai through the lines, watching them flicker and go out entirely. In front of the coffin, Haku makes a sound of triumph, and beads of water splatter the floor, freezing instantly.

“Why would Kumo have brought him _here_?” he asks quietly, glancing up at Tobirama’s still face. “Shouldn’t they have kept him in Kumo itself? What’s the point of a trophy is you don’t look at it?”

Zabuza grunts, eyeing the next few seals. “Maybe Konoha got a few spies in, and Kumo didn’t want them to get an eyeful of their Nidaime being kept prisoner, because you can bet your ass that would’ve started another war. Or maybe they were going to use his Suiton ability up here somehow.”

Haku pauses, looking disquieted, and Zabuza nudges him with an elbow. “Concentrate,” he says, not ungently. Orochimaru was sniffing around Kumo a while back, and that was more than enough to make Zabuza want to drag Haku on a mission to Suna, just to get him out of the line of fire. Snatching people for their bloodline or their abilities is all too fucking common, especially with all the chaos in Kiri following the purges.

Haku doesn’t quite roll his eyes, but the thought is clearly there. He goes back to the ice, though, and another thin stream of water slides down to the floor. With a touch of concentration, Zabuza sends it off to the side, so they don’t ice themselves over in the process of defrosting Tobirama.

“How long has he been asleep?” he asks quietly, reaching up like he wants to touch the happuri faceguard that’s getting closer to the surface as the ice retreats.

Zabuza considers for a moment, studying the Hokage's frozen features, pale and lifeless beneath the ice. “The First War ended fifty years ago,” he says at length. “He’s out of armor, though, and whatever the Kinkaku Squad did, he doesn’t look injured. They might have kept him long enough to fix him up, and then iced him. Better as a statement of victory that way.”

Very visibly, Haku swallows. “I don’t think I like Kumo's methods very much,” he says carefully.

“You’ll never have to deal with them,” Zabuza says, and doesn’t phrase it as a promise, but—that’s what it is, and even he can't deny that.

“Even when you're Mizukage?” Haku asks, smiling a little.

“Shut the hell up,” Zabuza says gruffly. “You know that’s not what it’s about.”

“Of course,” Haku says serenely, and tips his head, looking at the array Zabuza is drawing deliberate gouges through. “What’s that seal?”

“Chakra suppression,” Zabuza says, narrowing his eyes at it. it’s more complex than any suppression seal he’s seen before; there are at least five sections to it, and it targets each elemental affinity specifically. That adds some credence to his theory about Kumo wanting to use Tobirama’s abilities with water; deactivating one section of the seal leaves the others intact, and reduces the risk.

Well, as much as it _can_ be reduced, with a man like Tobirama.

“You know a lot about the Nidaime Hokage,” Haku says, and the coffin shrinks, all the ice not directly touching Tobirama’s body falling away in an instant.

Zabuza snorts, scratching out the last part of the seal, and can feel the steady hum of chakra in the room redouble. “The greatest Suiton user in recorded history, and a swordsman on top of that? Yeah, I read up on him. Kiri's books are all about his grudge match with Gengetsu and how our Mizukage got his ass kicked, but there are more books in Fire Country that’re interesting.”

“Kumo must have broken his sword,” Haku observes, and Zabuza can feel his own influence on the kid, because that tone is downright _salty_ about the destruction of a blade. “He’s only holding a hilt.”

With a laugh, Zabuza straightens, flipping his kunai around and scoring lines through two more minor seals. “That’s not a broken sword, that’s the Sword of the Thunder God. A Suiton user is generally shit against Raiton, but Tobirama made a fucking _sword_ out of Raiton and spit in everyone’s faces.”

Haku hides a smile behind one hand. “You like him, then,” he says.

That earns him another jab in the ribs with Zabuza’s elbow. “Shut the hell up. He’s not weak and stupid like most Konoha nin. He’d fit right in with most of Kiri.”

“_And_ he’s a swordsman,” Haku says, guileless. “That’s a nice combination. He’s pretty, too.”

Zabuza blinks at his ward for a moment, then glances up at Tobirama’s face, frowning. He hadn’t exactly noticed before, but—he is, actually. All sharp edges and angles, dangerous like a hunting cat, but he could definitely be called handsome.

“Huh,” he says thoughtfully. “Guess he is.”

Haku really does roll his eyes then, but instead of commenting he lifts his hands away and says, “I have almost all the ice off. Do you want me to finish?”

There are six seals left active on this side of the casket’s frame, mirroring the ones on the other side. Zabuza studies them for a moment, then decisively strikes out two of the containment seals and jerks his head. “Yeah, do it. I’ll get rid of the seals keeping him asleep once he’s thawed, let him wake up naturally.”

“Hopefully before the snow leopards find a way in,” Haku says, casting a glance up at the ceiling like he’s prepared for the summons to dig their way through at any moment. Not that Zabuza blames him, but—

“They’ve been pretty quiet,” he says, and it’s mildly suspicious, because they sure as hell didn’t show any sign of giving up before. But now that Haku and Zabuza are underground, there are practically crickets.

Haku's shiver is entirely agreement. “Will Tobirama help us get out?” he asks. “_Can_ he?”

“Even if he can't hold his own against a pair of summons, he’s got that Hiraishin thing,” Zabuza says, and—it doesn’t mean Tobirama _will_ help them, but they're technically rescuing him, so maybe that will make him inclined to repay a debt.

Taking a breath, Haku nods determinedly. “All right,” he says. “This is the last of it.”

Zabuza watches as the last of the ice turns to water, slides away. He shapes a quick jutsu, drawing the water out of the heavy formal clothes Tobirama’s been dressed in, and then scratches out of the last of the seals. the glow on the casket fades, and he has to move fast to catch Tobirama before the man can crumple, no longer held in place.

He’s warm in Zabuza’s arms, the heat of a body that’s been preserved by chakra in some sort of healing trace, and relief makes Zabuza’s breath slide rough and soft out of his throat. “He’s alive,” he says, and touches two fingers to Tobirama’s throat, feeling the slow, steady pace of his pulse. “Now we just have to see if he’ll wake up.”

“Is there a place to put him?” Haku asks, leaning in to get a look at his face. “The ice is too cold, right?”

“Everything’s too cold right now,” Zabuza mutters, but he hauls Tobirama back out into the larger room, then carefully lays him out on the ground. Undoing the clasps on his jacket is enough to send a gust of icy air across his chest, but Zabuza grimaces and pulls it all the way off, tossing it over Tobirama. “Grab my bedroll and we’ll put him on that.”

As Haku digs out the right sealing scroll from his pack, Zabuza does a quick check for any wounds that might be hidden by Tobirama’s clothes. There are branching, fractured lightning scars across his chest, beautiful and terrible, and a just-healed stab wound in his side, but he can't see anything else, and when Haku lays out the bedroll, it’s easy enough to roll Tobirama right onto it. He doesn’t shift, but his eyelids flutter, and there’s a breath that’s just a little heavier, a little deeper.

This is the part that’s going to be nerve-wracking. Sometimes people who’ve been in chakra-induced comas for too long never wake up at all, just slip deeper into sleep when the seals are removed and drop down into death as simply as that. Zabuza’s putting his money on Tobirama being too much of a fighter to let that happen, but there are no guarantees.

“Get your own bedroll out, too,” he tells Haku gruffly. “Get some sleep and rebuild your reserves. We might need them in the morning.”

Haku flicks a glance from Tobirama to Zabuza, but nods and goes to lay out his blankets on Zabuza’s other side. Close enough to wake up easily, Zabuza thinks with amusement, but doesn’t protest. Sliding back a little, he props his shoulders against the wall, right next to where Kubikiribōchō is leaning, and lets Haku curl up against his side, pressing into his warmth.

In front of them, still and pale in the blue shadows, Tobirama keeps breathing.

The first shift comes hours later, when Zabuza is half-dozing with one hand curled in the weight of Haku's hair. He comes awake in an instant when he hears the faint change in breathing, the sudden hitch of a gasp, the hiss of blankets moving. The sound stops as he opens his eyes, but Zabuza isn't an idiot; he knows when someone’s pretending to be asleep.

“Kumo had you,” he says quietly, into the careful silence. “They trapped you in ice and put seals on you, and my student and I found you a few hours ago and deconstructed the prison. I'm Momochi Zabuza, and this is Yuki Haku. We’re from Kiri, and near as I can tell it’s been about fifty years since you went into the ice.”

There's a long, long pause, and then Tobirama’s eyes slowly slide open, as red as the Sharingan. Ironic, considering the Senju fought the Uchiha for so long.

“I suppose,” Tobirama says, raspy and rough, “that the fact I'm not currently tied up is a good sign.”

Zabuza snorts, letting his grip on Haku ease slightly. Not the words of a man about to attack them, then, and that was always a risk, but not one he wanted to contemplate. “If it makes you feel better, we’re trapped right now too. There are summons outside, and I'm not in the mood to get eaten today.”

“That is a very particular mood,” Tobirama says dryly, and slowly, painfully gets an elbow underneath himself. He pushes up with a grimace, one hand going to his chest, and takes a deep breath.

“Sore?” Zabuza asks, watching him closely.

“So it seems.” Tobirama shifts all the way up, Zabuza’s coat crumpling into his lap. “Fifty years, you said?”

“Yeah.” Zabuza tips his head, watching red eyes do a quick sweep of the room before returning to him. For a moment, they drop to Haku, still asleep, but Tobirama’s gaze thankfully doesn’t linger there. Zabuza might have to try and threaten him if it did, and he’s not sure he’d come out on the other side of that in one piece. It would be a hell of a fight, though. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

Tobirama blinks, then frowns. “The Kinkaku Squad,” he says grimly. “They cornered me at the edge of a cliff, and set fires to dry out the air. Between that and the lightning…”

Zabuza grunts. A whole squad of jounin against one man is fucking _cheating_, but then, Kumo's never had the same idea of fair play as even the rest of the shinobi world. Any means to win, even if it’s dishonorable.

“Shitheads even back then, I guess,” he says disgustedly.

Tobirama’s smirk is thin, all sharp edges and agreement. “Where are we?” he asks.

“Northernmost part of Water Country,” Zabuza answers, not about to hide anything from their one chance of getting out of this place alive. “The ice sheet. Kumo tried to invade a few years ago, and this is the settlement they established.”

For a moment, Tobirama’s eyes go heavy-lidded, and the flicker of his chakra smooths out, rises, crests like a wave. “I can feel it,” he murmurs. “Everything here is ice.”

“Pretty sure they wanted to use you to help terraform it,” Zabuza says. Given Tobirama’s ability to pull water out of the very air, it seems the most logical explanation.”

Tobirama’s eyes flicker to the frozen Kumo nin by the burned-out fire, and he snorts. “I'm glad they seem to have failed,” he says simply, and that half-smirk is a cruel, sharp thing. “Spectacularly.”

Zabuza laughs, drawing a knee up. “Yeah, they didn’t last long up here. Far as Kiri can tell, a bad storm pretty much wiped them out.”

With a short sound of acknowledgement, Tobirama draws Zabuza’s jacket over his shoulders. “And Konoha?” he asks. “Did they survive the war?”

“Which one?” Zabuza asks, and can see the meaning of the question strike home, the way Tobirama’s shoulders stiffen and his expression freezes.

There's a long, long moment of silence, and then Tobirama asks quietly, “How many?”

“Two more major wars.” Zabuza watches the expressions shift across Tobirama’s face, grief and then resignation, and then closes his eyes, not willing to see any more. “Second World War was mostly Suna and Iwa and Konoha. Third was Kumo, Konoha, Iwa, and Kiri. But—no bystanders in either one, really.”

“Predictable,” Tobirama says roughly. “The Hokage?”

“Up to the Yondaime, but he was killed by the Kyuubi six years ago, and they’re back to the Sandaime again. Sarutobi Hiruzen.”

“Fifty years is a long time for any one man to reign.” Tobirama’s frown deepens, displeased. “No one else has been willing to take over?”

Zabuza shrugs. “I don’t know shit all about Konoha's politics,” he says. “Kiri's enough of a shithole as it is. I don’t have time for others.”

That, at least, makes Tobirama snort. “I take it Gengetsu is no longer in power?”

“He and Mū took each other out,” Zabuza confirms. “And the Sandaime got his head chopped off a few years ago. Karatachi Yagura's the Mizukage now.”

“But you do not approve.” Tobirama’s attention is a heavy, deliberate thing, all of it focused on Zabuza right now.

Uncowed, Zabuza holds his stare. “Under Yagura, we’ve had bloodline purges,” he says. “Not sanctioned, but he sure as hell hasn’t done anything to stop them. All kekkei genkai clans are being wiped out, and it’s still fucking going on.”

“And you're simply obeying orders while it happens?” The arch of Tobirama’s brow is politely disbelieving.

Zabuza stares at him for a long, long moment, weighing his potential responses. Finally, at length, he offers Tobirama a smile that’s full of teeth, and says, “What the fuck gave you that impression?”

Tobirama snorts, drawing the coat more tightly around himself. “The northern ice sheet is a very long way to send someone,” he says. “Particularly for something like a scouting mission. But it seems like a very good way to remove a potential traitor from the village for at least a month.”

“Yeah,” Zabuza says bitterly, and looks down at Haku's peaceful face. “I noticed that, too. Not like the chances of me taking a jinchuuriki who’s in complete control of his bijuu are great anyway, but Yagura's a paranoid fucker.”

“The Sanbi?” Tobirama asks, eyes narrowing. “Or the Rokubi?”

“Sanbi.” Zabuza raises a brow at him, trying to follow where his thoughts are headed. “Why’s it matter?”

Slowly, carefully, Tobirama pushes to his feet, taking a step to test his balance. “Because if a Kage is so abusing his power, it creates an opening another Kage may take advantage of. It sounds as though Kiri is not unfamiliar with upheavals changing the power structure, either.”

It takes a second for Zabuza to parse that, but when he does, it’s like a shock of icy water. “_What_,” he bites out, jerking to his feet. “You want to fucking _take over my village_?”

Tobirama rolls his eyes, which is entirely unappreciated. “If you are not strong enough to take Yagura, you are not the strongest shinobi in your village,” he says reprovingly. “And not suited to be Kage. But if whole clans are being wiped out, something requires change. I can provide it.” He pauses, then grimaces, fingers curling into fists. “I know better than anyone alive what clan struggles can become,” he says quietly. “And what it feels like when children who should have no part in things become targets.”

Zabuza doesn’t look at Haku, doesn’t close his eyes. Stares at Tobirama for a long minute, trying to breath through the burn in his lungs. Anger, partly, but—

Something disgustingly like hope, too, underneath the offense.

“You don’t know a damn thing about Kiri right now,” he says at last, and the words come out ragged in his throat.

“But you do,” Tobirama counters, and steps closer. He’s shorter than Zabuza by almost a hand, but the curl of his chakra still makes Zabuza’s skin prickle, that same sort of animal fear that he felt in front of the snow leopards. “And you want change so much that Yagura sent you to the furthest edge of Water Country to keep you from plotting against him.”

“Doesn’t mean I'm about to help _you_,” Zabuza shoots back, but—Tobirama has a point. Zabuza’s a good swordsman, good with Suiton, better at silent killing, but he’s not a jinchuuriki. No one who _can_ beat Yagura is currently on board with the idea of rebellion, and if Zabuza wants anything to change in the near future, he needs help. Needs the help of a former Kage, and preferably one who managed to forge a cohesive political and economic structure for his village out of nothing.

Kiri needs to be changed from the most basic level right up to the most complex, and out of all the people in the world, Zabuza managed to trip over the one most suited in the middle of the fucking _northern ice sheet_.

Tobirama is watching him, and there’s something in his face Zabuza can't read. “It does,” he says, and steps closer. “When are you expected back from this patrol?”

“Three weeks,” Zabuza says, and takes a breath. Closes his eyes, rubbing a hand over his eyes, and mutters, “Fuck. _Fuck_. All right. If we leave now, we can get back a few days early, surprise Yagura—”

Tobirama’s expression is all faintly smug amusement. “We can get back in a matter of seconds,” he interrupts. “I have Hiraishin seals planted inside Kiri. Just in case.”

Zabuza stares at him, not sure why he’s surprised. Everything he’s ever read emphasizes just how much of a crafty, underhanded bastard Tobirama is. He really does fit right in with Kiri's shinobi. “Just in case,” he repeats dryly. “Yeah, sure, fuck it. Just in case. Got more in every village?”

Tobirama smirks. “Only the ones I visited,” he says, which isn't an answer of any kind. Shifting back just faintly, he glances around the room again, and then asks, “You said summons had trapped you in here? A remnant of Kumo’s occupation?”

“Probably,” Zabuza says, and refuses to feel like he’s lost something when Tobirama’s attention focuses elsewhere. “A couple of snow leopards, and I’ve never seen anyone with their contract, but—”

Tobirama _laughs_.

In a moment, he’s breezing right past Zabuza, headed for the trapdoor. A single leap carries him up, and he clings to the ice as he shoves it open, ignoring Zabuza’s hiss of anger as he lunges to grab Kubikiribōchō. From behind him, there's a sharp breath, and Haku rolls out of his blankets, staggering upright, but Zabuza can't spare the attention.

“Fucking _stop_,” he snaps, following Tobirama up. “They’re—”

“Chiyoteru,” Tobirama says to the massive beasts looming over him. “Somezō. You’ve grown.”

The snow leopard in red armor laughs, crouching down to butt its head against Tobirama’s chest. When he buries his fingers in its fur, it chirps like a kitten. “Of course we have,” it says. “You slept for far too long. Somezō and I missed you.”

The black-armored cat makes a sound of agreement, but steps past Tobirama, and Zabuza stiffens as the summons crouches down in front of him. There’s a sound of alarm from behind him, but Zabuza catches Haku before he can shove past and try something stupid, like putting himself between Zabuza and the snow leopard.

“Easy, kitten,” Somezō tells him, amused, and then looks at Zabuza again. “Our apologies for alarming you, before,” he says. “We couldn’t speak without Tobirama, and driving you towards his resting place was our only hope of freeing him.”

In hindsight, their whole chase through the settlement _definitely_ seems like herding more than hunting, and Zabuza laughs, letting go of Haku.

“Now I know what a mouse feels like,” he says.

Somezō chuckles, then rises and goes to rub his face against Tobirama with more kitten-chirps. Zabuza stares after him for a long moment, the blows out a short breath. When Haku curls his fingers in the hem of his shirt, he snorts and drapes an arm over Haku's shoulders, tugging him a little closer.

“Fuck,” he mutters, and Haku looks from Tobirama to Zabuza and back.

“He woke up,” he say, mild, and Zabuza shakes his head, not quite able to believe it either.

“Yeah,” he says, and laughs a little, helpless. “How do you feel about taking out Yagura and installing the former Hokage in his place?” he asks, and when Haku's eyes widen, he snorts. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

“Oh,” Haku says, a little warily, and he studies Zabuza’s face for a moment. “You’re okay?”

Zabuza considers the question for a moment, then takes a breath. “Yeah,” he says, and mostly means it. At this point, anything that can get Yagura out of power is enough for him. The Mizukage's hat is tempting, but—Zabuza wants it more because he’s a low-caste bastard, the child of enemies, and he wants to spit in the faces of all the old high-caste shitheads filling Kiri's upper ranks than because he really wants the power himself. He’s never cared as much about Kiri as a village as people like Mei and Kisame, and that probably means something.

With a whirl of smoke, the two summons disperse, leaving Tobirama standing in the snow and rubble. He raises his face to the near-constant sun for a moment, then turns back to look at Zabuza, and there’s a surprising half-smile on his face.

“To Kiri, then?” he asks, and holds out a hand.

This is the moment when Zabuza should be having second thoughts, when he should change his mind and reaffirm his loyalty to Kiri and disavow his plans of installing a former enemy as the Mizukage. But honestly, Kiri's never done shit for Zabuza except make his life miserable. Haku's too. At this point, there’s no way Tobirama can make things worse, and Zabuza’s willing to put his money on the ridiculous hope that Tobirama might even be able to make things better.

He crosses the space between them, steady, set. Stops, just an arm’s length away, and meets red eyes.

“On one condition,” he says. “The minute you’re in office, you dismantle the caste system, and make sure it can't come back. Then you stop the bloodline purges. Make those the first things first thing you do, and I'm yours. No matter where this fight goes.”

The expression that flickers across Tobirama’s face is surprise, followed by amusement. Followed, then, by something warm, something faintly tired, something faintly intent. “Agreed,” he says simply, and Zabuza takes his hand, pulling Haku tighter against his side.

“I'm holding you to that,” he says roughly, holding Tobirama’s gaze. “I’ll kill you myself if you break your word.”

Tobirama smirks, stepping in. The surge of his chakra rising is a sea beneath a storm, a tidal wave forming. It shifts golden, and a seal writes itself across the back of Zabuza’s hand in black marks, a seal like the Senju Clan symbol set into Zabuza’s skin.

“I will keep that promise,” he says, and his fingers tighten faintly. “As long as you keep yours, Zabuza.”

Zabuza’s breath catches, but before he can find the words to answer, a flicker-flash of light takes them away.


End file.
